Post by Castiel de Bonnel on Oct 23, 2009 16:54:39 GMT -5
Pushing the back door open, the one that lead into the courtyard, I entered the house proper en route from the vineyards, covered in sweat and dirt, and feeling a little numb. All this had been left to me, the house, the business, and the care of my darling little sister. All of it. Sure, I was no royal, with daily reminders of duties that could change a life, could change a world, but it was enough. And maybe, just maybe, it was too much.
It was only days after the wake of my parents, closed casket. Many had come out. Friends, family, acquaintances, many had come out, all offerin condolences, a helpful word, an inspirational story. Some offered hugs, hand shakes, pats on the back, but no matter how many said nice things, no matter how many tried to make it seem less than it was, it did not matter. Some people would be happy to be rid of their parents, but I was not one of them. I loved them dearly, as they had loved us, unconditionally. And here I was, back at work, trying to remind everyone that we would be alright, to convince them that all would be well, when I was the last person to do it, the most unsure of what the future held. I should have been grieving, mourning the loss, and I did so at least, wearing all black, but in silence, and with it being forced to the back of my mind, like a foul taste in my mouth that I was forced to make seem pleasant. It hurt, it wrenched me apart inside. And I had to do it alone. I could not, for the life of me, bear this to Desdemona. I could not put that stress on her when she was already becoming more withdrawn and angry as the days progressed. I needed to be strong, if not for myself, then for her.
But I did so wish, terribly, that I could have a life partner to share this with, warm arms and pliant flesh with a smile and a willing, healing heart to make this battle, this journey, just a little easier. I wished I had a wife.
"Messire," Deliah, a maidservant of the house, whispered from the door leading into the house. "Messire," she said a little louder as I snapped out of my revery, realising that I must have been standing there, looking the epitome of distress and despair. I raised my eyes to hers and forced a smile to my lips.
"I am sorry, I was lost in thought," I said with a chuckle, my attempt at merriment though it only came out sadly.I whinced at the sound of my own voice. It sounded weak, feeble. I cleared my throat and stepped into the house, closing the door behind me, slowly, hoping that I would turn around and the scene that just happened would be far from her mind. But as I looked upon her face I saw it. The pity. It made me sad, and angry, all at the same time. Not at her, but at myself. I needed to be a beacon of hope for these people. I smiled and walked closer to her, looking down at her. I could see, then, the rosy hue of the blush on her cheeks. She was beautiful, and mayhap I could just wed her out of desperation, out of need, out of duty. But alas. Love as thou wilt. I could not force someone into a life of duty and not of love, and I would not do that to myself. But now was not the time.
"What is it Deliah," I said with a grin as I stood before her, looking down. The pain in my heart welled that someone so unpresuming could care for me. Then again, it was the households loss, too, not just my own.
She moved forward and, with hesitation that was obvious, she pressed her hand against my cheek, stroking it, and I felt something break inside me as I leaned my face into the warmth of her palm. She smelled of lemons and sugar, and as I opened my eyes, I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. She smiled up at me sadly and pressed a kiss against my cheek. I could feel the wetness spread, my tears on her lips, and noted how she licked them before pulling away.
"It is okay to mourn," she whispered with a sad smile, her own eyes filled with tears. "It will take time to feel better, but you shall be okay," she said with a grin. She sniffled softly, and I pressed my own hand to her soft skin, feeling her, feeling a woman when it felt like it had been so long since I had done so. My breathing was shakey as I let the tears flow. Others would see this as unmanly, the inability to push death and sadness aside to carry on, but she did not. "It is okay," she whispered again.
"Thank you," I murmured before placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, then pulling back, smiled. "Thank you."
It was only days after the wake of my parents, closed casket. Many had come out. Friends, family, acquaintances, many had come out, all offerin condolences, a helpful word, an inspirational story. Some offered hugs, hand shakes, pats on the back, but no matter how many said nice things, no matter how many tried to make it seem less than it was, it did not matter. Some people would be happy to be rid of their parents, but I was not one of them. I loved them dearly, as they had loved us, unconditionally. And here I was, back at work, trying to remind everyone that we would be alright, to convince them that all would be well, when I was the last person to do it, the most unsure of what the future held. I should have been grieving, mourning the loss, and I did so at least, wearing all black, but in silence, and with it being forced to the back of my mind, like a foul taste in my mouth that I was forced to make seem pleasant. It hurt, it wrenched me apart inside. And I had to do it alone. I could not, for the life of me, bear this to Desdemona. I could not put that stress on her when she was already becoming more withdrawn and angry as the days progressed. I needed to be strong, if not for myself, then for her.
But I did so wish, terribly, that I could have a life partner to share this with, warm arms and pliant flesh with a smile and a willing, healing heart to make this battle, this journey, just a little easier. I wished I had a wife.
"Messire," Deliah, a maidservant of the house, whispered from the door leading into the house. "Messire," she said a little louder as I snapped out of my revery, realising that I must have been standing there, looking the epitome of distress and despair. I raised my eyes to hers and forced a smile to my lips.
"I am sorry, I was lost in thought," I said with a chuckle, my attempt at merriment though it only came out sadly.I whinced at the sound of my own voice. It sounded weak, feeble. I cleared my throat and stepped into the house, closing the door behind me, slowly, hoping that I would turn around and the scene that just happened would be far from her mind. But as I looked upon her face I saw it. The pity. It made me sad, and angry, all at the same time. Not at her, but at myself. I needed to be a beacon of hope for these people. I smiled and walked closer to her, looking down at her. I could see, then, the rosy hue of the blush on her cheeks. She was beautiful, and mayhap I could just wed her out of desperation, out of need, out of duty. But alas. Love as thou wilt. I could not force someone into a life of duty and not of love, and I would not do that to myself. But now was not the time.
"What is it Deliah," I said with a grin as I stood before her, looking down. The pain in my heart welled that someone so unpresuming could care for me. Then again, it was the households loss, too, not just my own.
She moved forward and, with hesitation that was obvious, she pressed her hand against my cheek, stroking it, and I felt something break inside me as I leaned my face into the warmth of her palm. She smelled of lemons and sugar, and as I opened my eyes, I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. She smiled up at me sadly and pressed a kiss against my cheek. I could feel the wetness spread, my tears on her lips, and noted how she licked them before pulling away.
"It is okay to mourn," she whispered with a sad smile, her own eyes filled with tears. "It will take time to feel better, but you shall be okay," she said with a grin. She sniffled softly, and I pressed my own hand to her soft skin, feeling her, feeling a woman when it felt like it had been so long since I had done so. My breathing was shakey as I let the tears flow. Others would see this as unmanly, the inability to push death and sadness aside to carry on, but she did not. "It is okay," she whispered again.
"Thank you," I murmured before placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, then pulling back, smiled. "Thank you."